All The Things You Can't Take With You
by comeonbabyplaymesomething
Summary: It hits her like a shock to the heart. A million pinpricks all over her skin. But at least it's something. Oneshot. Spoilers up to last night's episode.


**A scene that popped into my head after tonight's (now last night's) episode. And once it comes in the only way I can get it out is if I write it down. Cheesy but worth it.**

**All The Things You Can't Take With You**

She's not exactly sure what causes the break. How she ends up speeding along the road in the middle of the night in a car that isn't hers. The windows down and the radio blasting so loud she might blow his speakers. Her hair is whipping in her face and her heart is bounding with the bass. And she feels like this is the first deep breath she's taken in months.

She drives until she hits ocean, and sees the sunrise laying on the hood in total silence. There is nothing and no one to worry about. No is dead, dying, or in danger. There is only her and the sky, a big giant reset button erasing yesterday.

She could go anywhere. Be anyone. Jeremy got to leave. And not a single person in her life would fault her for it. She would be hunted, of that she was sure, but she could hide. Klaus was fast but she could be faster. But there was always the catch, the penalty for being so selfish. If he couldn't get his hands on her blood he would take it from everyone she loved. Spill it until their veins had no more to give.

She'll go back. Just not this second.

The call comes at eight in the morning. And she wonders for a split second which man in her life has noticed her absence first. Overprotective semi foster dad who she left wrapped up on the couch. Overprotective friend who fell asleep holding her hand just a few hours after watching her stab a man. Overprotective ex whose voice it still literally hurts her heart to hear. Or overprotective Damon.

"Where are you?" the voice isn't friendly, in fact it's bordering on hostile. Maybe it's concern. She's not going to try and guess.

"I'm not sure," she sighs, running a hand through her tangled hair. She's still stuck on the hood of the car in a parking lot by the sand. He can probably hear the waves crashing against the shore anyway so after another breath she admits, "Instate. Near the coast."

She can practically see his eyes rolling on the other end. He thinks she's being overdramatic. But he doesn't know the half of it and she doesn't know the words she would use to explain. "It's freezing," he replies back dryly.

"I'm wearing a coat," she snaps back just as fast.

"Fine," he utters with a clenched jaw, wondering how she can be so competent one minute and then totally dissolve the next. He's busy dealing with fucking the supernatural equivalent of the Jerry Springer show over at Klaus' mansion all night and then he comes to her house and finds her missing. Just the kick he needs to end his already stellar evening. "When are you coming home?"

"Soon."

There's a hesitation, and then he asks the question she knows he doesn't really want the answer to, "Is Stefan with you?"

She has no idea how he could ask her that. After everything, to be in a car alone with Stefan right now is unthinkable. He's so volatile she feels like every time they're together he's constantly one step away from exploding. He was right; taking her to the bridge had been to far. And she's still not sure if he or they can come back from the line he had crossed that night. She tilts her head, "Do you thing I would've stolen your car if I was going with Stefan?"

"You stole my car?" he hisses, not sure whether to be proud or pissed. He goes with both.

She takes another breath, and the words come out soft and slow. Exactly the opposite of how she feels, "Caroline's dad died tonight. And someone stabbed Alaric." He actually stops what he's doing, which is walking to the garage to confirm her story. The next sentence would probably cause him physical pain if his heart was beating, "You didn't answer your phone."

He resents the implication immediately. He was dealing with his own shit. Stefan almost got his face burned off for Christ's sake. And so he says a little childishly, "I was busy."

It's wrong, and he knows she hates him for a split second. She clears her throat, and the vulnerability that was there only a second ago vanishes. She's cut him out. She gets better at it everyday. Stronger. And he's not sure if he likes it. "And now I'm busy. Goodbye Damon."

* * *

><p>She's eating breakfast at a greasy diner straight out of her childhood when he plops down in the booth across from her. Her hair is up, and she's shoveling in pancakes like she hasn't eaten in weeks. There's a splotch of dried blood under her jawbone, but she hasn't noticed and he doesn't want to point it out.<p>

She doesn't acknowledge him until she takes a big gulp of coffee, staring at him over the rim with eyes that are on fire, "How did you find me?"

"Hacked your cellphone account and tracked your cellphone," he smirks.

Her eyebrows furrow as she glances at him in between skewering pieces of pancake, "Bonnie?"

"You're password is Matt," he remarks smoothly, "I managed to figure it out by myself." She doesn't say anything to defend herself, doesn't even look up at him. He thinks he can outlast her, but she finishes all of her food in silence and is sipping her coffee with her eyes trained outside the window when he cracks. Crossing his arms over his chest he points out with a velvet smile, "You're mad at me."

"I'm mad at myself," she corrects, still not looking at him, "I let myself count on you and obviously I shouldn't."

"I'm not Stefan, Elena," he replies back, eyebrow quirked.

She snorts, rolling her eyes at him"Stefan doesn't even know who he is Damon, so how could you? And being reliable isn't a trait exclusive to his personality anyway."

He opens his mouth, not positive as to what's going to come out, "Elena-"

She shifts and suddenly she's looking at him, all watery eyes and pursed lips. Thankfully interrupting whatever asinine comment was on its way out, "Just say you're sorry."

"What?"

"Just say you're sorry Damon," she repeats. Making it simple enough so that even someone as emotionally retarded as he is can understand, "And mean it."

He blinks. He's so used to holding grudges he keeps ignoring at how effortlessly she can forgive them. He straightens, reaches across the table and grabs whatever hand he finds first, squeezing for good measure, "I'm sorry."

It takes a minute but she softens, relaxing into the back of the booth. And finally he has the opportunity to ask the question that's been bugging him the entire drive. "Why the beach?"

She smiles, but it's bittersweet at the center, her eyes find their way back to the coastline, "My parents used to take Jeremy and I here all the time in the summer. We'd come down and spend the whole weekend in the sand. Jenna and Logan used to come when she was home from school. Sometimes even John would spend the day. We had the lake house, but we loved it here too."

He feels like he should apologize again. If only to take away the horrible pit that's forming in the bottom of his stomach. The instinct that's telling him this is about so much more then him not answering the phone last night.

She's still caught in her moment, "I should have brought Caroline with last night. I'm a terrible friend."

His ears prick at the implication, and he knows exactly what direction this is going in finally. They're going to play the Elena pity party game. Where somehow she thinks she's responsible for other people's decisions and problems. "This isn't your fault," he states, tone perfectly level and face perfectly straight.

She rolls her eyes, "It's _all_ my fault."

"No," he shakes his head, not even close to backing down, "Maybe in the beginning you could blame yourself, but not anymore. Klaus was coming whether Stefan and I were here or not."

"So you're saying I'm lucky then?" she question, sarcasm dripping.

"No Elena," he groans, suddenly pissed off that they're cooling their heels in this greasy spoon with a table stuck between them, "I'm saying you're not to blame. You're life was going to hell one way or the other, and you might think otherwise but I prefer this version." It's not the prettiest picture, but it's better then the one that he occasionally allows to himself to contemplate. Where Elena had been snatched by Klaus in the middle of night. Just another missing girl never to be found again.

She's all about the quick subject change this morning and suddenly he's being ripped from his thoughts by yet another stupid question, "What would I have done if Ric had died tonight?"

"You're eighteen," he surmises.

She swallows hard. He doesn't understand, or maybe he's ignoring, how desperate the situation has become. She's got one person left before she's living in her family home all by herself. And the words "would rather die" don't even come close. "That's not the point."

"I know it's not," he agrees, "But Ric's fine. He's not going anywhere. He's at your house, waiting for me to drag your ass back there."

He knows by the way her eyes shift that it's still not over, that there's another question coming, "And Caroline's Dad? What about him?"

"He made a choice."

"He chose Caroline," she nods, "My parent's did the same for me. And they're dead too. Grayson and Miranda," she says the words like she's out of practice, rolling them off her tongue at a snail's pace. "They were wonderful, and I'm happy," and there it is, what all of this is really about, "so happy that they're not here to see the mess I've made with of my life. Of Jer's and Jenna's."

In a flash she is out of the booth and heading for the door. He takes a second, leaning his head against the back of his seat and reminding himself that kissing her probably won't make her feel better, before standing to follow her. He throws a fifty on the table and disappears.

She's already across the street. They're two blocks away from the beach and she's heading towards the shore. He catches up in seconds and grabs her by the wrist. He can smell the salt in the tears that are falling out of her eyes.

He's not sure she'll like it but he wraps his arms around her and hugs her anyway, "You kept yourself safe, you kept Jeremy alive. That's all your parents would care about. You do the best with what you have Elena. We all do. Its all there is right now.

She exhales, and her whole body shakes. He doesn't know when she got so fucking stubborn, but of course there's another question about to hit him between the eyes, "And when is right now over? When do we stop living from crisis to crisis?"

He doesn't let go, but he does change strategies, "Who knows? Will you just come home with me anyway?"

It's along pause, but when she inhales he knows he's won, "Yeah, but there's one thing I still have to do."

* * *

><p>He doesn't want sand in his shoes so they're standing all the way up on the sidewalk. Elena's stripping while trying to make sure Damon stays honest. "Are your eyes closed?" she hisses and he purposely doesn't answer just to drive her crazy, "Damon?"<p>

"Yes Elena," he answers dutifully, "They're closed. I cannot see your pink underwear or your black cotton bra."

She groans and tosses her clothes to him as she takes off in a sprint towards the ocean. And let's be honest, he watches the entire time. When she reaches the waves she screams. And he takes his first deep breath in months. It hits her like a shock to the heart. A million pinpricks all over her skin. But at least it's something. At least it makes her feel alive; like maybe there's a chance someday she will be looking back on all this time. And it will be a distant memory.

He doesn't know how he's going to get his car back, but they drive home in Alraic's truck. She's wrapped in his leather jacket sleeping, head pressed against the window. She smells like salt. But for the first time in a long time it's not because she's been crying.


End file.
